Of Bankable madness

It was interesting to see that Tyra Banks has finally clued in on what she should be doing on ANTM. Of course, she just had to do it after several promising girls had to be put through some of the most bizarre photoshoots ever conceived. Yes, Tyra—and to an extent ANTM—can be accused of trying too hard to be edgy that they sometimes cross over into parody. Anyone remember the meat-on-models photoshoot? No? Here it is, in case you (blissfully) forgot.

Pebbles would like her club back ...

After 14 seasons, countless makeover meltdowns and boy-deprivation-induced catfights by way of hormonal imbalances, she finally decided on going high fashion. What beggars the question is why now? Is she tired of being a joke—however unintentionally at times as it may be? Or could it be something to do with the cancellation of her talk show? After all, the self-proclaimed Supermodel-turned-businesswoman-with-a-big-forehead has to have something to do with her newly-found spare time. So what better way than to make sure her other cash cow  project has the bona fides to stand on its own and be another major contributor to pop-culture? Spinal Tap, your days are numbered!

Tyra Banks being Tyra Banks, she plumped the prizes to further entice the fashion pundits and lay viewers by glitzing each episode with industry bigwigs—first episode and she’s already whipping out Diane von Furstenberg. Diane von Furstenberg.

She’s playing for keeps, I tell you.

Aiming high does our Ms Banks, and while some of the concepts—if any!—of the photo assignments eludes me somewhat, I’ll grant her the benefit of the doubt. With her brand of crazy I don’t expect her to hit the mark. I expect it to be entertaining, but whether or not this crop of girls she churns out will command the undivided attention on the fashion by and large still remains to be seen.

Of course, when Ms Banks starts waving around her crazy stick—and the pantsuits! Seriously?—we get to see the meltdowns and crash cases that has kept us thus far entertained and glued to the tube. 

ANTM Cycle 15 has some memorable contestants, among which are:

1. Jane Randall: Princeton-educated, Christie Brinkley-clone

Jane - post-makeover

Ann - Mermaid photoshoot with jewellery by Matthew Rolston

2. Ann Ward: this Cycle’s Nicole Fox/Heather Kuzmich 

Chelsey's pseudo-CoverGirl print

3. Chelsey Hersley: freckled love-child of CariDee English & Melrose Bickerstaff, minus the crazy

Kayla - formerly blonde redhead

4. Kayla Ferell: this Cycle’s chameleon talent (Kahlen, anyone?)

5. Liz Williams: this Cycle’s girl-to-hate (there is always that one girl, isn't there?)

Liz - Rodeo Drive shoot by Patrick Demarchelier

Chris - Rodeo Drive shoot with Patrick Demarchelier

6. Chris White: Comedy Queen. Talking about some random male she saw, "Mama wouldn't mind me bringing HIM home, honey."

Of course, in the case of not throwing the baby out with the bathwater, it wasn’t all a total loss. One thing, some of the shenanigans kept me in stitches:

1. Ann’s dream guy: a warlock, shoots fireballs, and she’s ok with him being older—like >40s. One word: creepy.

2. Jane: (from Meghan Carlson, Senior Writer, BuddyTV) “I had to include this photo (see below) because it shows, word for word, where Jane's head is at during their gondola tour of Venice: Absorbing more KNOWLEDGE! She's a history major at Princeton, so you can't blame her, and the nerdiness is quite endearing. I can't blame anybody in the world for actually seeking out "lots of pamphlets." If only we were all so focused on learning. She's quiet and seems sort of awkward, but also ridiculously beautiful and graceful. Jane is basically every nerdy girl from a romantic comedy post-makeover, except she just never went through the initial ugly duckling phase. Damn her.”

Jane = lovable nerd

3. Liz: Hearing Milan as one of the international destinations, she thinks Mulan, "so of course I'm thinking Japan and dragons". That’s Chinese, you ignoramus! She then realized after watching another girl’s reaction (Chelsey) that it's actually MILAN, as in Italian Vogue. As in what this competition is all about. Mulan. Friggin’ Mulan. Dumb brunette 1, Active listening 0.

Liz: "Another fiver and you get to see the cooch, boys." Classy.

And Tyra Banks being who (or what) she is, took this cycle to debut her directorial skills on a "motion editorial"—whatever the Hell that is—where she free-laboured the remaining contestants into an intense, disturbing and ultimately freakish short—we’re talking about The Ring here!—that makes you wonder, “If Tyra has a therapist, does the therapist quake in fear whenever it’s time for Tyra’s appointment?”

I won’t waste words, but I’ll just post it here and let you judge for yourself.

*Photos owned by CW and respective photographers

Of sorcery and beauty

It shouldn’t surprise anyone that I’m quite the avid reader. One of my favourite genres is fantasy, which started when my mother got me The Wishsong of Shannara by Terry Brooks for my 13^th birthday.

Of course, the rest is history.

One of favourite books from that particular genre is Polgara the Sorceress by David & Leigh Eddings. This, of course, was written waaaay before he degenerated into slothful works like The Dreamers.

It was a beautiful story. On one level, it was a good start for beginners of the genre; simple prose, good dialogue (which happens to be the Eddingses’ forte), and enough magic to assuage one’s hunger for the incredible. To a seasoned fantasist; it has drama, adventure, and magic aplenty. For longtime followers of The Belgariad and The Malloreon series, it serves as a bookend and prologue of sorts to the preceding stories. It delves into the history of the titular character and gets into who and what she is—her motivations and her and dedication to her charges. And for the sentimentalists, there is enough romance to fill-up your Mills & Boon’s fetish.

I’m not going to spoil it for you, but I recommend you to get a copy—buy, steal, rent, whatever. Just make sure you read it.

Polgara the Sorceress by David & Leigh Eddings

*************

The Twilight craze is insane. Yes, I know it is a tautology, but it is what it is. I’ll admit I have all four books—Breaking Dawn hardcover!—but I’ve only read them once. I’m not saying Stephenie Meyer is a horrible writer. She’s good at manipulating the language. The key word here being manipulating. Just as how she belabours the obvious beauty of the vampires, she seems particularly vague when it came to Bella. Yes, I know she’s dark-haired and pale-skinned. So does almost every Goth/emo girl out there. What’s the exact hair colour? Chestnut, dark brown, highlights? Almost any girl can project what she is onto the character and experience forbidden love vicariously through the book.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t regret purchasing those four books. Nor am I discounting rereading them. I even have favourite parts in the book that I paused and reread several times—the birth scene is my ultimate favourite. It’s like Aliens meet Sweet Valley High, by way of Anne Rice. However, unlike Rice’s vampires who could be very sexual, sensual and decadent Meyer’s came across as repressed and awfully ethical. Then again, Meyer is a Mormon so perhaps we should’ve expected that.

Except Edward, of course. The whole stalking, passive-aggressive, controlling, I-know-better-than-you-fragile-human shtick is just wrong. I’m expected to accept that this is what most pubescent girls go ga-ga over?

I don’t think so! Then again, we have to account for Justin Bieber’s fame so what the Hell do I know, eh?

So, it is with great trepidation that I picked up Beautiful Creatures. After having Jacob from Twilight go all WASP-y and whiney on me as he watched Bella vacillate between werewolf-human or vampire-human pairings I have some reservations about female writers writing from a male protagonist’s point of view.

I was humbled to say that my misgivings were unfounded. Kami Garcia and Margaret Stohl have managed to write something fresh, yet familiar. The hero Ethan Waite tends to overanalyze but with the advent of the “sensitive new age guy” or SNAG, I can deal with that. And before you throw up your hands in disgust and say, “Oh wonderful! Just what we need, another fragile hero!” allow me to set a few points across:

1. Ethan is a rough-and-tumble kind of guy.

2. Ethan is understanding, yet pushy (like every young man he spouts understanding and yet gets demanding—without making any bones or excuses for it. Suck it, Edward!)

3. Ethan has issues—real ones (unlike Bella’s “I’m the new girl but so darn superior ‘cos I’ve done your lab work at my previous school!”) which ran the gamut from heavy stuff (distant and emotionally disturbed father), to small potatoes (flaky/spacy best friend), to having his life unravel by lies and falsehoods (nope, that would be spoiling it).

I know, itemizing the above makes one wonder how is a high-school senior supposed to get through this without reserving a spot at the Betty Ford Centre? Yet, for all that never once did the writing devolve into melodrama. Stohl and Garcia kept it paced just nice. Slow enough for you to digest the angst and speedy enough you want to see a good ass-kicking done.

Beautiful Creatures and its sequel Beautiful Darkness is out now. So grab a copy and enjoy!  

"Walls"

These walls are closing in

and I cannot breathe

These walls are toppling in

and I cannot run

But wherefore should I run

Where shall I hide

How far could I go?

What is it I must do?

These walls that I built

The edge spiked and perilous

I cut myself open

and hang unbidden

And wherefore should I cry

Where is my solace

How far could I go?

What is it I must do?

These walls I'm tearing down

this cheap tinsel crown

Rub my skin raw

clean to the bone

And salt will scour me clean

Here is my place to bide

This far I can go

Tearing myself down

"Jigsaws"

A curved nook
where your neck meets
shoulder
There will I rest my
head


A columned spine
lying curved away
from me
There will I reach my
hands


A breathed air
on my bristled cheek
tickle tickle
They will meet my   
lips


A puzzle of bodies
on a tangle of sheets
fingers uncurling
Little death fled
us

Of letting go

One would think that letting go is easy. Theoretically speaking, it's a simple matter of uncurling one's fingers one by one and release may be found. 


I wouldn't know if it's easy as all that. 


Or even as hellish an ordeal as some would make it to be. 


Things, people --- good and bad --- will come and go. The cycle will repeat itself and like it or not we have to roll with the punches. And maybe land a couple of our own in the meantime.


I don't pretend to possess the collective wisdom of ages, nor am I adept at prognostication. Like most, I blunder on and get by on wits and instinct. I've been lucky enough to land on my feet but make no mistake, it's not all a charmed life. Some of my winnings happen through fighting tooth and nail, swallowing my rage, and generally smiling at people I'd like to jam a knife into --- all in the name of making sure I make it in the long run.


Aaaahh ... the things we do to survive.

Of lawful illusions, sweet wildness and twisted truths

Sarah McLachlan - Laws of Illusion

Sarah McLachlan's first disc since her split from husband Ashwin Sood harkens back to her earlier recordings -- namely Surfacing, Touch and Solace. 

Some may make much of the fact that McLachlan's singing is still replete with quasi-orgiastic sighs and moans by way of wistfulness but then again, the same argument could be made for Rihanna's slightly nasally voice. It should be noted that when her breakthrough album Surfacing came out, a unique niche was already carved that allowed her to display vulnerability, earnest naivete and romanticism without coming across as melodramatic -- in an era where almost every female singer-songwriter was trying to emulate another fellow Canadian (Hi, Alanis!).

The production was top-notch, with longtime collaborator Pierre Marchand and that's where they hit gold with  arrangements that not just accompanied each individual songs, but each addition of strings, and even electronic beats draws this listener in. Of course, McLachlan didn't skimp on her trademark lyrics either. In "Forgiveness" she mourned a loss of trust and inability (or perhaps unwillingness?) to forgive a wrong. "Out of Tune" starts with stark percussive beats before the piano swells and segues into her desire to disappear into her lover's arms.


All in all, Laws of Illusion won't net her new fans but it's definitely a reward for her legion of loyalists who have been following her since her first album.




* * *

Jewel's second foray into country

If I had to pick a favourite Jewel album, Sweet and Wild wouldn't be the first choice -- the honour would go to Goodbye Alice in Wonderland. Granted, Sweet and Wild is more cohesive than her previous attempt at  the country genre with Perfectly Clear -- a title I found ironic since I was left in the murk at her confusing lyrics.

This isn't to say that both attempts at country are dismal failures. I admire Jewel's attempt and ambition at musical reinvention; from her modest coffee-house folkie beginnings, to adult-contemporary, electro-pop diva and now as country chanteuse. 


There are good tracks to be found here: the melancholic Fading recalls midlife depression, the sweetly flirtatious Stay Here Forever where her vocals trills and resound clear with breathless anticipation at "having a little kiss" with her beau (we'll assume husband Ty Murray has the honours!). One cannot fault her crisp and versatile vocals -- all throughout the disc, she sounds like the same young folk artist we fell in love with in Pieces of You, albeit with matured skills. She brought over some elements from Goodbye Alice in Wonderland with her lyrics -- while retaining her simple approachable architecture -- in delving more into heavier themes subtexts of sacrifice and despair on Satisfied. But that's where it stops.

Perhaps, Jewel will need a third attempt at truly capturing the essence of what makes country country. As her track record suggested, she is able to deliver by polishing each album until she hits the motherlode but it all depends on how the fickle public sees it.




* * *

Lene Marlin - Twist the Truth

One is tempted to wonder if Lene Marlin suffers from chronic disappointment. Her songs are so melancholic and morose that it sounds as if one more heartbreak could leave the poor miss a basket case.

Now, this is not to say that I feel like taking a razor blade to my wrists after listening to the album. What did strike me was the fact that this girl have amassed quite a consistent signature style when it comes to her music. She combined winsome melodies that easily traps the untrained pop listener and then rewards them with lush backings of orchestra, synthesized arrangements and ethereal vocals. If not for the slightly melancholy air of this record, I would be tempted to say listening to it is like a dreamlike journey. It is fortunate for this listener that Ms Marlin's capable genius did not allow it to devolve into a nightmare.

Her closest concession to mainstream pop would be her first single off of this album, titled "Here We Are". As the song's chorus laments at loss and wishful thinking on what-could-have-beens, guitar/violin melds seamlessly with keyboards. What Marlin excels -- and consistently concentrates on --  is creating moods rather that catchy hooks. Her soft voice wouldn't stretch anyone's vocal range but trying to evoke the mood that she slamdunks almost without effort is a true indication of her talent.

While songs like her lead single, "You Could Have" and "You Will Cry No More" speaks about blame, responsibility, loss and accountability she never once came across as accusing or preachy. As with her previous albums, she managed to balance her lyrics that it presents itself as a neutral observer yet still engrossed in the going-ons around her.

I suggest tracking down her first album Playing My Game -- released when Marlin was only 18 -- and then listen to Twist the Truth and you'll see what I'm talking about.

Of cougars and leopards

One of my more recent TV series addictions is Cougar Town. From the opening to finish scene of the first episode, I was hooked. Can’t say I’m surprised; I’ve always had a soft spot for Ms. Cox ever since I first saw her Gloria in Misfits of Science. And yes, I do find her hot. There, I said it.

Segueing into a slightly (by way of theme being ‘dating’) related note, I’ve recently reinvigorated my dating pool. Yes, I know it is crass calling it that but needs must. And no, tricks do not apply here. 

In a case of life mirroring art, I find that my current—attractions, shall we say?—all are decidedly on the younger side of 30. While it shouldn’t raise many eyebrows I do grapple with my own prejudice that youth equals callowness. It is through my own experiences and observations that youngsters in general are a thoroughly stupid lot. Stupid, as in they can’t help those foolishness and pratfalls. Being ignorant on the other hand, just invite contempt in buckets. And Lordy, it’s well-known that I don’t suffer fools willingly, nor do I possess capacious patience! 

Now, I know dating someone 27 years old doesn’t necessarily make me a lecherous old man I was nearly sent into cardiac arrest when one of my dates informed me that he just turned 21. I should’ve known when he didn’t get the Punky Brewster references. Or the one from Thundercats. 

But yes, parents do be warned this leopard is back on the prowl—and beginning to appreciate the intriguing pull of the younger set!

* * * * * * * * * * * *

I’ve recently went out on a date. At least, date is the polite word I’m using since there might be gentle-bred ladies present.

Without going into too much detail, all I will say are the following:
1. Shower first. Or at least put on some cologne.
2. Dress well, to fit the occasion. Often overlooked – footwear! Shoes often can make or break an outfit.
3. Don’t interrupt your date by leaving the scene, indulging in lengthy phone conversation or both.
4. Keep the name-dropping to a minimum. If 3 times saying you work with Jamie Oliver didn’t get her lifting her skirt, or him dropping trou, move on.
5. Leave the rah-rah crowd behind. Unless pressed, don’t ram your entire social calendar down your date’s throat. If you haven’t even kissed by the 3^rd date, what makes you think she/he wants to ingratiate themselves into your social circle?
6. Breeding shows. Yes, it is a throwback to those elitist times but this one is a bonus. And in contemporary times, everyone can behave like a gentleman or a lady without being styled a peer of the realm. And no, insisting to people you come from the top drawer does not a class act make.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Now, on the general topics of cougars and dating I’m still on the fence on the whole age thing. How young is too young? And conversely, how old is too old? You see the Chihuahua/St. Bernard couplings and you see Methuselah/Persephone combo. It’s an equal toss up if one wants to go all aquiver and rhapsodise over love bringing such disparate people together, or one can vomit all over at the perceived grossness. I suppose it all depends on the parties participating. I bemoan the fact that people my age prefers younger mates, while I stave off unwanted attention from those with daddy/big bro complex. 

Perhaps it’s time to relaxed the age band slightly and see what develops?

Of vacillations

We’ve often been told that to give in to our emotions would leave us stranded in a position—that while the journey is arguably worthwhile, or even sometimes enjoyable—most people would pay good money to avoid. We’ve all been in that place. That crucible where we give in to our whims. We knew it was a path better left alone. But the weed-choked alley somehow caught our fancy. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to take a short traipse down that path…

And therein lays my undoing.

I would risk calling myself a hedonist. A glutton, a sensualist —— a greedy little sponge. The list of pejoratives goes on and on. Even if I were to exhaust my formidable vocabulary I would still not have the words to describe my moments of weakness.

My contemplating my state of mind—if you can call it that!—is not a signal of depression, I assure you. I’ve been lucky enough to favour the manic side of bipolar disorder. Nor is it another promise (yet another one!) of turning over a new leaf—which I probably have no intention of keeping. Perhaps I like picking at scabs. Who doesn’t? Our closet masochists must be pandered to, after all. Whilst our inner drama queens take stock and unleash calamity upon diatribe upon tragedy on unsuspecting bystanders.

Perhaps neither scab-picking nor throwing expensive crockery at the wall is the solution. While waiting one to present itself, I’ll happily vacillate between the two!

"Some Mother's Son"

Sparks and flares
coming from a gun
Blowing away
some mother's son
Screech of tires
and the setting sun
Left to die
some mother's son
Lived by the sword
and barrel of his gun
What to do?
She cradled her son
weeping, oh she weeps
(do I weep? do you?)
Wisps of smoke 
wafting from a gun
What was it?
Just some mother's son

"Highways"

I'm tired of straight roads
that don't lead anywhere
I'm tired of people saying
I should "go there"
when I'm just plain lost

(Why doesn't anyone listen?)

Emotions run high
on this mercurial run
Will you be leaving me
when you're done?
This map I'm holding
it doesn't mean a thing
I can't make out the lines
to take my empty whine

(Why doesn't anyone care?)

Tired waiting
Tired asking
questions that bring no answers
Waiting for my hearse
I'm just messed-up
Run out of luck
Just tired of going
in circles
On nonexistent highways
on a worn-out roadmap